


saying nasty things

by frausorge



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-07
Updated: 2008-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/pseuds/frausorge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete sees the new guy for the first time while he's wandering around the halls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saying nasty things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/gifts).



> For turps33, based on the prompt icon below. Title and additional inspiration from Dar Williams's Alleluia (http://www.darwilliams.net/music/tabs/alleluia.html). Contains character death, boot fetishism, wings, and religious themes. thank you and goodnight.

Pete sees the new guy for the first time while he's wandering around the halls, slouching around corners and dragging his thumb along a groove between the cinderblocks. He's not really snooping, but the double doors to the gymnasium are standing wide open, and the guy catches Pete's eye because he's dressed all in black: tight black T-shirt, tight black jeans, heavy black eyeliner, and the hottest boots Pete's ever seen. Also the stupidest hair Pete's ever seen, plastered down over his face and under the earpieces of his glasses and wow, the guy looks like a motherfucking idiot. But the boots are definitely cool.

The guy's standing with his back to the wing lady, waiting with an annoyed look while she takes out the feathers she's holding clamped between her lips and threads them one by one into his coverts. The feathers are black, too. Pete feels his own wings lift up a little while he's watching and draws them firmly back down again. The new guy looks up and meets Pete's eyes for a moment. Then he glances away, back over his shoulder.

"I'll eat you out if you want," he tells the wing lady in a monotone. "I'm fucking amazing at it. I can make you come three times in two minutes if you let me use my tongue on your pussy."

"No thanks, honey," she says. "Just be patient a little longer, I'm almost through. Just need to -" She fixes the last of the feathers into place and tilts her head critically. "There. Okay, let's see what we've got. Can you try flexing?"

The wings sweep suddenly up into immense shadows towering over the guy's head. Even Pete has to admit they look pretty cool.

"Good," the lady says, "looks like they took just fine." She smoothes a little here, tugs a little there, and then pats him on the spine and says, "All right, Michael, you're good to go."

Michael rolls his eyes once and then gets a funny look on his face. Pete knows what that is; it took him a while to learn how to retract them, too. Eventually Michael manages it, steps off the blue mat, and makes his way to the doors. It isn't until he raises an eyebrow, though, that Pete realizes Michael came over to him on purpose.

"Oh, hey, hi. I'm Pete," he says.

"Mikey."

Mikey has huge brown eyes under his glasses, and his T-shirt is from an old Anthrax tour. His jeans fit very snugly around his thighs.

"So, where do I go next?" he says.

"Uh, wherever?" Pete says. "Where do you wanna go?"

"No, I mean." Mikey scratches at his neck, just under his hairline. "Are you going to take me to get any more, uh, equipment? Like, instruments, or something? Harps?"

"Oh!" Pete says. "Oh, no, dude, I'm not - I don't do intake or anything. I was just hanging out. But I can show you around a little if you want. Or I can take you to the cafeteria, if you're hungry."

"Okay," Mikey says.

He looks kind of bored while they're going down the hallway. Pete pauses. "So, hey. Did you, like, _want_ an instrument? 'Cause they'll totally give you one if you do. You play something?"

"Bass," Mikey says.

"Dude! Me too," Pete says. Mikey cracks a smile for the first time. It kind of makes his whole face make sense.

Pete lays his hand on Mikey's arm. "Listen," he says, "this place kind of sucks, all right? You've gotta know that going in. They just really don't get kids like you and I were, at all. So. We're gonna have to stick together, okay?"

Mikey shrugs. "Okay," he says.  
   


They hit up the cafeteria, where Mikey packs away a surprising amount of food, and then Pete takes Mikey out back past the soccer fields to where the beach starts. Mikey stops at the top of the dunes and stands still.

"It's, I mean," Pete says. "It's just a beach, I know."

"It looks a little like the Jersey Shore," Mikey says.

"Oh," Pete says. He's always thought it looks sort of like Lake Michigan, himself. But whatever.

"I like it," Mikey explains. "I'm from Jersey."

"Oh," Pete says again, relieved.

Mikey doesn't want to go in the water, but they hang out in the dunes for the rest of the day, lying in the sand looking up at the puffy white clouds. Pete finds himself almost humming a little but manages to stop before it turns into singing.

They start heading back when the sun goes down, but pause for a while on one of the little footbridges to watch the colors of the sky. It is a gorgeous show, Pete can admit that, even if it gets a little monotonous night after night.

"Do you have a room already?" he asks. "'Cause I don't have a roommate right now. So, like, there's a free bed."

"Cool," Mikey says.  
   


In Pete's room, Mikey pulls his T-shirt awkwardly off around his wings and then sits down on the empty bed to unbuckle and unlace his boots. Pete tries not to let Mikey catch him looking.

TU ES PETRUS, Pete's eyelids say when he closes them. _No, no, no,_ he thinks, and then his eyes go dark and he really is asleep.  
   


After breakfast one of the cafeteria ladies stops Pete and says, "Oh, Peter, could you go by the office this morning? It won't take but a minute, they just asked if you would stop in."

Pete sighs. "Okay," he says. "Mikey, the band room's down that hallway if you want to check out what they've got."

"Sure," Mikey says.

When Pete gets to the office, the secretary smiles at him and says, "Go right on in, Peter." He squares his shoulders and marches into the inner room.

"Ah, Peter," God says. "How are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm not," Pete says. "You know that."

God smiles. "Well, that's really a shame. You know we want everyone to be happy here. Is there something you want that you find yourself missing?"

Pete thinks about how Mikey tried to rattle the wing lady in the gym yesterday. He doesn't really believe he'll have any better luck, but it's worth a shot for shits and giggles.

"Yes," he says. "The new guy, Mikey, I want to fuck him. I want to hold him open and bury my dick in his ass and ram his prostate and make him shoot jizz all over the fucking cafeteria tables. And I want to lick his boots, I want to run my tongue into all the grooves on the soles and lick all over the uppers and suck on the buckles, and I want him to pull my hair while I do it, and I want-"

Pete stops talking. He feels like the conversation was starting to get away from him.

"I see," God says, regarding him steadily over folded hands. "And have you told Michael about these wishes?"

"No," Pete says.

"Ah," says God.

There's enough of a pause that Pete starts to wonder if he's supposed to be saying something else. Then God smiles again and says, "Well, that's all I wanted to ask you just now. If there's anything else you need, do let us know, all right, Peter?"

"Sure thing," Pete mutters.  
   


"So how'd you get here?" Mikey says, later. He's already finished tuning his own bass and he just took Pete's out of his hands. Now he's bending over it, biting his lip when he plucks at the strings. Pete wants to suck on the bitten skin.

"I kind of OD'ed," he says.

"On what?" Mikey says.

"Ativan. I didn't mean to. I really only wanted a break."

"Yeah," Mikey says. "I know what you mean."

Pete nods, even though Mikey's not looking.

"What about you?" Pete says after a minute.

"Went on a bender," Mikey says. "Guess I just drank too much. Or, like, probably the drinking and the Oxycontin together, or whatnot."

Pete nods again.

"It was dumb, I know. I just couldn't stay on top of things. And I was having a hard time sleeping."

"Yeah," Pete says.

Mikey brushes his bangs out of his eyes and hands Pete the guitar back. Then he picks up his own, and they play.  
   


ET TIBI DABO CLAVES, says the ringing in Pete's ears while he's trying to eat dinner. Pete shakes his head hard, and it fades away.

"Dude," Mikey says. "You were right, this place is boring as fuck, but the food is actually pretty good."

Pete scowls. He hates it when Mikey shows signs of letting himself get mellowed out.

"You don't think so?"

"No," Pete says curtly. Then he sighs. "I mean, the food's great and all. It's just, it's like these Hawaiian parties my family used to have, where there was always, like, entirely way too much food everywhere you looked, till you ended up getting sick of seeing it. You know?"

"Huh," Mikey says. "Yeah, I guess." But he still finishes his sandwich with a good appetite.  
   


Pete and Mikey hang out on the steps in front of the main entrance a lot while the other kids their age are out riding or camping or whatever. They're nearly asleep one afternoon when a grandmotherly old lady wanders up the path, squinting at the two of them sprawled across the stones, and asks if it's all right to use those doors.

"Sure," Pete says. "Go right ahead, they're open."

She takes the steps very slowly, leaning on her cane. Mikey gets to his feet and holds the door for her. "Thank you, dear," she says.

When Mikey comes back Pete rolls his eyes at him.

"Oh, fuck you," Mikey says.

"You wish," Pete says.

"_You_ wish," Mikey says.

And the thing is, suddenly Pete's thinking about it. Mikey holding _him_ open, the hot grip of Mikey's broad hands, the thicker heat of Mikey's dick pressing into him. He only did that a few times, before, and he wasn't so sure he liked it, but now, fuck. Mikey's looking at him. Pete can't hide it, it must be written all over his face, Mikey's going to know, and-

"Hey," Mikey says. "Let's go back to our room."

"...Okay," Pete says.  
   


Neither of them opened the blinds that morning, so the room is only half-lit with the sun filtering through the gaps. Mikey touches Pete's face, and Pete stares at him. Then Mikey leans forward, and thank fuck Pete remembers to lean in too, to meet Mikey's mouth and kiss back and fuck, fuck, open his own mouth to Mikey's tongue. The song is trying to rise in his chest but he quashes it back down.

He shoves his hands under Mikey's shirt instead, feels Mikey's palms run up his sides, a tangle of cloth and feathers and then they're pressed together, bare chest to chest. It feels amazing. Mikey kisses Pete again and the stupid glasses aren't in the way anymore and a noise like a whimper comes out of Pete's throat.

Mikey dips his fingers into Pete's waistband and out again before moving to cup Pete's dick through his jeans. Before Pete knows it, Mikey's got him unzipped and starts peeling the jeans down Pete's hips. Pete has to stumble back from Mikey's hands and mouth to keep his balance while he's struggling out of the legs. When he finally steps clear, so hard that the head of his cock keeps brushing against his belly, Mikey's sitting on the edge of his bed watching him.

"Mikey?" Pete says.

"Yeah, fuck," Mikey says.

He lifts his foot and reaches for the first strap of his boot. Pete swallows hard and says, "Wait." Mikey stops and looks at him. "Can I do that?" Pete says.

Mikey just keeps looking for another moment. Then he says, "Okay," and leans back on the heels of his hands.

The floor is cool under Pete's knees, and Mikey's sole is dry and faintly heated from the sun. Pete cups his hands under Mikey's heel and flattens his tongue against the rubber. The center of the sole is perfectly smooth to glide over. Then he moves on to the grooves radiating out to the edges, and his tonguetip fits into them perfectly. There's a salty mineral taste like ocean water, and the warm weight of Mikey's foot resting against him, and Mikey is letting him, letting him, letting him.

Pete bends Mikey's ankle gently down and lets the scent of leather fill his lungs. He risks a glance upward and sees Mikey looking down, half-lidded in the shadow of his own wing, a small smile flickering in the corners of his mouth. Mikey has shifted to lean on just one hand, and the other is moving lazily inside the open flap of his jeans.

"So, is this why you wore them?" Pete asks.

Mikey gives Pete a whole smile. "Yes," he says. "Keep going."

Pete grins and bends back down to lick around and over and across the vamp. He lets his hands sweep greedily up Mikey's calf, slides the top strap free and licks all down along its length, sucks the buckle into his mouth for the contrast of the unyielding metal, and then does it all over again with the middle strap, and the bottom one. He rubs his cheek against the laces over Mikey's instep before loosening them, and slips his fingers inside to push the leather of the shaft clear of Mikey's leg. Finally Pete sets his grip on the back of the ankle and pulls the whole boot off.

He sets it over to the side, tugs Mikey's black sock off too, and kisses the warm skin he's just revealed on the underside of Mikey's arch. Then he draws Mikey's sole flat against his chest and holds it there.

Mikey leans forward. "Pete?" he says.

"Can you," Pete says. He lets Mikey's foot slide to the floor outside his knee and reaches for Mikey's hand instead. "I want you to touch me," he says, closes his eyes and moves Mikey's hand to his head.

Mikey tightens his fingers in Pete's hair, and Pete feels Mikey's other foot come to rest on his thigh. Then Mikey presses Pete's head down and guides him everywhere he needs to be.

When Pete has had his fill of that foot, he kneels up between Mikey's thighs and gets his mouth on Mikey's cock. After only a few long draws, though, Mikey groans and pushes him off. "Stop," Mikey says. "Stop, I wanna fuck you. I, shit, I've wanted to fuck you since I first got here and saw you."

"Oh," Pete says. He's probably grinning too much with his too-big teeth, but he can't make himself stop.

"Get on the bed," Mikey says, standing up to get out of his jeans. Pete does.

When Mikey's fingers press into him, Pete spends a few seconds wondering whether Mikey went somewhere and asked for lube, or if it was just left in the room for them, or what, because that's really, well, it doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately just then he feels Mikey's cock, and that pushes everything else out of his mind. Pete's going to come really soon, he knows he won't be able to help it, his wings are lifting and his blood is singing in his veins and he can't stop that either. Maybe he doesn't even want to.

"Pete, fuck," Mikey says. He lets go of Pete's hip and reaches for Pete's dick instead, and that's it, Pete's coming, giving himself up to the sheer pleasure pushing through him. When Pete's done Mikey resettles his grip and thrusts a few more times, and then he's coming too, his breaths heavy and panting in Pete's ear. He pulls out and rolls to the side so his weight is mostly off Pete. Pete turns over, his feathers flattening under him again, and Mikey slings an arm across Pete's chest.

"You know," Pete says once he's caught his breath, "I didn't think we could do that here."

Mikey strokes his thumb back and forth on the skin over Pete's ribs. "I'll kick anyone's ass who says we can't."

"Okay," Pete says, and then he falls asleep.  
   


Pete feels even lazier than usual when they're lounging out front the next day. He smiles at all the old folks arriving and just waves them on up the stairs, leaving it to Mikey to hop up and get the doors for them. The air is fresh and the sun is just bright enough to warm his skin without burning. Mikey comes back and lifts Pete's head onto his thigh, running his fingers through Pete's hair. Pete thinks he could stay here a while.

"Holy shit," someone says. "Holy fucking shit, are you Pete Wentz?"

Pete opens his eyes and there's a kid squinting at them. A kid with tight jeans, lots of eyeliner, and scene hair flopping in his eyes; a kid even younger than Pete was. "Oh, fuck, no," Pete says out loud. Mikey squeezes his shoulder.

"Pete Wentz, I can't fucking believe it," the kid is still muttering. "Are you, like, an angel now? Can you show me where to go?"

"Um," Pete says. "You want to go in?"

"In where?" the kid says. "I'm sorry, I can't really see you very well. It's so fucking dark."

Pete and Mikey look at each other, and at the broad sunlight all around them.

"Oh," Pete says. He sits up sharply. "Okay, fuck. Fuck! Listen to me. What's your name?"

"Ryan," says the kid.

"Okay, Ryan. You're gonna turn around and go back, right now. Right back the way you came. Okay?"

"But it's hard there," Ryan says. He's starting to pout; it's pretty impressive. "I don't - I can't go back. I just can't."

"I happen to know for a fact that you can," Pete says. "Whatever it is, you can deal with it, okay?"

Ryan looks dubious.

"Um. You play an instrument or anything?"

"Guitar," Ryan says. "And I sing a little."

"Okay, go with that," Pete says. "Find some people to play with, and keep working on it, and, fuck. I dunno. Just find a way to deal with your shit, okay? It's too soon for you to come here yet."

"But you did," Ryan says. "And..." He's eyeing Mikey's hand still resting on Pete's shoulder. "You're happy now, right?"

Pete takes a breath and reaches up to cover Mikey's hand with his own. "Yes," he says. "But I wasted my chance to be happy there first. You can be smarter than that."

Ryan sighs. "All right, fine," he says. His mouth is still downturned, but he squares his shoulders and starts glancing around from side to side. "So, uh, where do I..."

"Thataway," Pete says, pointing straight back behind Ryan. "And don't let me see you back here for another sixty years at least."

"Whatever," Ryan says. He heaves another dramatic sigh, turns around, and starts trudging back down the path he came.

Pete and Mikey keep watching until Ryan rounds a bend and disappears from their sight.

"Oh my fucking - fuck," Pete says. "Can you believe that little punk?"

"Uh huh," Mikey says. "You were pretty amazing."

"Not really," Pete says, "it's not like I helped him solve anything. He was just so fucking young, you know?"

Mikey nods. "You're hot when you're being all righteous and shit," he says solemnly. Then they both crack up, and Mikey takes Pete's face between his hands and kisses him.

When Mikey's moved on to licking at the side of Pete's neck, Pete looks over Mikey's shoulder and wing and sees God standing at one of the big corner windows of the office. God catches his eye and gives him a thumbs-up.

Pete groans. "Okay," he says. "Okay, all right, _fine_."

"Hm?" Mikey says, drawing back to look at him.

"C'mere," Pete says. The song is rising in him more powerfully than ever; he can feel it in every breath. He leans forward, and Mikey does too. Pete presses their lips together, and then he lets the song flow, right up out of his open mouth and into Mikey's.


End file.
